


how we break

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Clean Up Your Room, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fall Into Chaos, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hero Monomyth, I have no idea how this turns out, Indo-European Mythology, Isolation, Mythology References, Rescue Your Father From The Underworld, Restore Order, Slay the Dragon, Sort Yourself Out, WIP, egyptian mythology - Freeform, not even sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 17:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11696241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: Rhaella looked on horrified at her brother, begging him to show mercy even as his nails dug a painful path along her arm. “’Tis all your fault. You have made him weak. Poisoned him against me with your indulgent ways, your innumerable praise.” He shook her harshly. “And now look what has come of it. He plots against me. His father. He goes against the will of the gods.” Aerys pushed her out of the way.Her legs gave out, the fall made even more disgraceful by the presence of the Spider. The man rubbed his hands together, a servile smile still lingering, quirking his lips upwards.





	how we break

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Rifts And Ripples](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10211642) by [solitariusvirtus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus). 



> I swear to God guys, I'm gonna unpack every fairy-tale until I've cleaned up my room and rescused my father from the Underworld.
> 
>  _The "contamination of anomaly with the threat of death" attendant on the development of self-consciousness, amplifies the valence of the unknown to a virtually unbearable point. This unbearable amplification has motivated the development of two transpersonal patterns of behavior and schemas of representation, constituting the individual as such, embodied in mythology as the "hostile brothers." One of these "hostile brothers" or "eternal sons of God" is the mythological hero. He faces the unknown with the presumption of its benevolence” with the (unprovable) attitude that confrontation with the unknown will bring renewal and redemption. He enter, voluntarily, into creative "union with the Great Mother," builds or regenerates society, and brings peace to a warring world._ Maps of Meaning, Jordan B. Peterson.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhaella looked on horrified at her brother, begging him to show mercy even as his nails dug a painful path along her arm. “’Tis all your fault. You have made him weak. Poisoned him against me with your indulgent ways, your innumerable praise.” He shook her harshly. “And now look what has come of it. He plots against me. His father. He goes against the will of the gods.” Aerys pushed her out of the way.

Her legs gave out, the fall made even more disgraceful by the presence of the Spider. The man rubbed his hands together, a servile smile still lingering, quirking his lips upwards.

 

 

 

“It must be some sort of misunderstanding,” Steffon Baratheon offered, his cool and collected demeanour a stark contrast to her brother’s incensed manner. “Not once has His Grace failed in his duties and not once has he been led astray.” She wanted to sing hymns to the Mother, begging her to keep the child safe. “Your Majesty, I beg that you would reconsider.”

“I shall reconsider nothing. The wretch’s head will fall.” Rhaella’s heart squeezed in her chest. Not her sweet babe. She clamped her lips tightly together, in a bid to hide the pain. It was not as effective as she’d hoped. “Be silent, cursed bitch!” the tyrant bellowed.

 

 

 

“Kinslaying would attract the wrath of the gods,” the High Septon warned. Rhaella closed her eyes, pretending she were somewhere else. Anywhere else. Aerys would not see sense. He was convinced their son had plotted. He would take the boy’s head. “It would be wiser to consider the matter further.”

“And what, wake with a knife to my throat?” her husband croaked, lifting one finger towards the holy man accusingly. “You would not mourn my parting, worm.”

“The Seven Kingdoms would grieve. I would grieve with them,” the man replied with great dignity. “Think upon my words, Your Majesty.”

“If I see fit.”

 

 

 

“I am begging you,” Rhaella whispered, fingers twisting even tighter around the smooth, pale flesh. “You can find a thousand other ways to win my brother’s favour. Don’t take my son.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “He is just a fool boy, who reached too high. I can teach him better. I will. He will never go against his father again.”

The Spider blinked slowly. “A mother’s grief is always so very sorrowful to witness.” Yet his voice betrayed naught. “I am afraid the King had made up his mind. Not even I can undo it.”

“You can. I know you can,” she insisted. “I am begging you.”

 

 

 

Throwing her arms around him, Rhaella squeezed Rhaegar to her. “I will find a way, my son. Do not fear.” But Rhaegar showed no signs of panic, as though her words were superfluous. He did brush back a strand of hair. His lips pursed. Her hand went to cover the bruise. “Think nothing of it.” Drawing back, Rhaella looked up into his face.

“Apologise to him. Plead for mercy. And swear loyalty. He shall let you live.” His lips tightened even further. “Rhaegar, I am doing this for your own good. He will be swayed. Many have spoken for you. Do not let their attempts be in vain.”

 

 

 

“I would not wish to hear the words even if you were willing to speak them,” his father said, arms crossed over his chest. Rhaegar followed the movement of his feet though. “Not only would you be a traitor, but a craven as well. I should kill you with my two hands were that the case.” He was growing bored. It seemed his father had no point to the little speech, other than to gloat. “And yet if I were to take your head, it would leave me with quite the protest on my hands. I admit, you have successfully divided my lords. Take pride; you are not a complete failure.”

 

 

 

Arthur shook his head, eyeing the hanging tapestries. Rhaegar willed his friend to look his way, but it seemed he would not win this one. “Lord Baratheon spoke for you. Lord Arryn offered grudging support. But there is enough proof to build a case upon. You were careless.”

“And yet he won’t kill me.” Once more his companion shook his head. “What then? He does not want me to bend. And he does not wish to kill me yet. Has he a plan?”

“Not that I know of. There are worse fates than death out there, you know?” He nodded. But death was final. Nothing else was.

 

 

 

“I think it is more than fair,” his father was saying, the smug expression he bore causing Rhaegar’s teeth to continue on their grinding path. “You may keep your head, and I may be satisfied that you will have learned a lesson.”

“No one had ever returned from beyond the Neck,” he pointed out, far calmer than he felt at the moment. At least he would have some dignity in death. A choice of how he perished.

“The woods witch promised the prince would be born of my line. If you are he, then nothing is truly beyond your power.” He arched an eyebrow, waiting to be challenged on his statement.

 

 

 

Rhaegar stared at the young man. “And I suppose you are the sole guard.” The other shrugged, clearly unimpressed with the way in which he’d spoken. Not that Rhaegar minded one bit. In fact, as far as he was concerned, the scrawny keeper of the three towers could die of being let down. He retained his seat atop the horse. “Will you allow me to pass, or shall we keep at this until nightfall?”

“That depends,” the man answered insolently. Clearly being for so long beyond the Crown’s reach had given some the impression they could speak as they wished, with whomever. “If you’re planning to make for the Wall, you are more than welcome to.”

“I take the road to Winterfell.”

“That I cannot allow.”

 

 

 

Rhaegar wiped his sword clean of blood and struck its tip into the yielding earth. “I wonder how many of my brethren you have slain.” The guardian was panting, crouched over his broken sword. He lifted his eyes to Rhaegar’s. The Prince was breathing hard as well. “Can you recall?”

“Not many. My father slew many more, when yet the old Aegon ruled. You are the first fool who dares make for Winterfell. If you want my advice, forget that keep.” He shook his head.

“I am required to bring back something for my efforts.”

“You will never return if you step foot there.”

 

 

 

The road was deserted. Rhaegar had dismounted a few hours past and he’d been walking leisurely along the path, a low whistle upon his lips. The guard had not lied. There was no life, no one for miles. As though the lands were truly barren. He watched this way and that, hoping to catch sight of at least a frightened hare scurrying off in the distance. No such luck. “Some adventure we’ve landed ourselves in,” he told the steed whose hooves trod the ground. “Might be we should make back.” Nay, his father would have his head. He was still determined to die on his own terms. Rhaegar pulled on the beast’s reins.

 

 

 

The lord, a man young enough to have been his son, frowned up at Rhaegar. His child’s face had the stroke of confusion upon it. “No one ever goes there. Not even the dogs. There are wolves, great, vicious ones.” Just his luck. “It would be wiser to turn around and forget all about any treasure.”

“So there is a treasure?” It was more confirmation than he’d previously had, that was for certain. The boy kicked at the pebbles strewn along the path. “I do not plan to die.”

“Aye, no one does,” he agreed, sounding for all the world decades older. “Those who go there surely die though. As sure the sun rises in the East.”

 

 

 

The gates were broken, as though a battering ram had put an end to all resistance. Rhaegar peered into the darkness. Even with the sun behind him, illuminating a path for him to step upon, none of that light managed to seep into the brooding blackness sealed behind the border he contemplated crossing.

His horse whinnied softly. Rhaegar was loathe to leave it out, in the cold. The courtyard was surely spacious, but offered no protection. He tugged on the reins and guided the beast, fidgeting as it was, towards a sprawling building long left in disrepair. It must have been a flourishing stable once. These doors he could open without much effort. There was straw upon the ground and a wealth of empty stables.

 

 

 

He’d been wandering aimlessly. Rhaegar had found a time-abused tower, locked doors, a wilting weirwood with bones beneath it and a pond which had seen better days. He had not once witnessed movement from within. No wolves, no people. No Starks. It was unnerving. He did not even dare whistle, lest he disturb the silence.

Rounding the corner, he found himself standing before another pair of doors. These ones had been carved out of fine marble. Runes ran along the edges, gliding and swirling. He closed his eyes against the dance. Could it be what he thought it was?

He stepped forth.

 

 

 

The wooden-boards creaked as he paced over them. He had had to return to the drafty stable and find a long forgotten torch, light it and make for to the cavernous space in which the great lords slept. He went from one effigy to another, scrutinising the worn faces. None of these men looked as though they’d had a particularly pleasant life. It had to be the dratted cold. Some of the graves lacked effigies. Runes had been carved into the slabs. He recognised not a single one. The Old Tongue had never interested him. Drawing to a halt before the first friendly expression he’d encountered thus far, Rhaegar pushed the flame closer to the carving.

 

 

  
Frozen in place, he stared down at the lump resting so very carelessly along the grave’s side. Rhaegar drew in a slow breath, hoping the terror would drain away as he inhaled. Instead, the creature at his feet jolted, one of its legs kicking out. He would have jumped backwards only that the animal’s head shot up and glow-in-the-dark eyes nailed him to the spot.

A low growl rumbled through the wide chamber. His own eyes widened. And before he knew it, he was rolling on the ground, tussling with a very large wolf, pushing his forearm horizontally against its neck. His fingers curled around thick, smooth dawn.

 

 

 

He’d struck the beast over the head harder than he thought he’d be able to, considering it had been doing its damnably best to pin him underneath it. Still, the blow had knocked the creature back; it slinked towards a darkened corner, leaving him to watch the departure.

To be entirely honest though, his enemy did not leave for good. Instead, the wolf hid somewhere behind another grave. He watched for some time, unsure of whether to follow and deal a fatal blow. It might attempt to attack him once more.

Cold seeped into him, working its way up his spine. He slowly climbed to his feet. Nay, why kick an opponent when it was already down? He’d not do it. Not for the moment.

 

 

 

In what he supposed to be the middle of the long chamber, Rhaegar dropped the pile of wood he’d brought from the stables. He could hear the soft scraping of claws against stone but did not mind it as much as he thought he might. He was not at ease either. Yet should the wolf prove content to leave him be, he would return the favour.

The flames ate away at the thin bark-covering of his offerings. There was a lot of wood, neatly copped up. It made little sense. Every single person he’d encountered had warned that no man visited the ghosts of Winterfell and lived to tell the tale. Yet somehow there was still chopped firewood.

Once more the sound of paws treading the ground reached his ears.

 

 

 

It was his damnable confidence that convinced him to stretch out near the fire and close his eyes. Without there was only darkness, but the crypts had warmed some with the fire. The horse would survive, for he had left oats for it to eat. As for himself, he was risking his life by trusting the wolf would not maw him when he let his guard down.

He sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the silence. It had lost its daunting character, becoming instead very near contemplative. He might even find it within himself to sleep the night away. Stifling a yawn, he turned on his side. His instinct urged him to open his eyes. He didn’t.

 

 

 

Something brushed against him. Instinctively, he flinched, sleep-addled mind veering into the territory of panic. Mercifully, whatever it was that woke him hadn’t noticed his reaction. The light he could feel on his face lost some of its warmth, the glow dimming. Something had stepped before the fire. Was it might be the wolf, searching for salted meat? That would be the day. Poor beast must have been without for a rather long time if it was willing to risk approaching fire.

Ever so careful, Rhaegar eased his eyes open, just slightly, just enough to catch sight of a most unexpected thing. He sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to sit up. He could hardly believe it. And yet the proof was there, before his very eyes.

 

 

 

She was much quicker than he’s expected. Rhaegar still managed to lock her against him, his arms two bands of iron around the struggling girl. “Keep still. I won’t harm you,” he promised. He might have spoken to the walls for all the difference it made. Might be she did not understand the tongue. “I won’t let go, so you might as well stop.” He kept his voice deliberately calm, hoping that might reach her at least.

Miraculously, she sank like a stone in his grasp. For a moment he thought he had her. That was not the case. A clever trick and had he not been paying mind she might have managed to escape. “I already said I won’t harm you. If you want more food, you may help yourself to it, but as a boon, I should like to know the name of my guest.”

 

 

 

Shaken by the light laughter streaming past her lips, Rhaegar relaxed his hold just a fraction. Then he heard her. “It is you who is the guest here.” He did let go. But instead of disappearing into the darkness as he thought she might, the woman, apparent mistress of all he saw, crept nearer to the fire and picked up a strip of salted meat. “Lyanna,” she offered after some time. “And if you think to ask for anything other than my name, I have already removed your sword.”

Sure enough, his weapon was on the other side of her. The free hand curled around its handle. “Who are you?”

 

 

 

Somewhat dazed, he watched Lyanna drain his skin, the silence between them lengthening. He’d been recounting to her how exactly it was that he came to be in Winterfell. She finally pulled the skin away from her lips and placed the cork back where it belonged. “You are fortunate you did not run into any of my brothers,” she answered, seemingly not bothered by either the revelation of who he was or by his reasons for occupying her crypts.

“Brothers?” She nodded. “Where are they?”

She shrugged. “Somewhere around here. You should leave come morning. They would not like to discover you here.”

 

 

 

“Lyanna?” Climbing to his feet, Rhaegar stared at the spot where he’d last seen the girl. He didn’t even know when he’d fallen asleep. She had continued eating the meat, warming herself by the fire. And now there was no sight of her.

He staggered slightly and then tripped over an unevenness in the floors. It did not stop him for long. Rhaegar began searching the graves nearby, wondering if she’d hidden behind one of them. Instead, his search took him to the same wolf he’d matched skills with. The beast looked up, but this time merely blinked in acknowledgeable.

A scarp of cloth caught his sight. Wonder struck him. “Nay.”

 

 

 

The courtyard was empty. Rhaegar still sat on the thick log he’d carried from one corner of the barn near the entrance of the crypts. His sword rested at his feet and he was fiddling with a piece of wood, carving. He should have been looking for an entrance to the great hall. “Are you going to come out?” he questioned, gazing over his shoulder at the darkened doorway. “’Tis not that very cold. I though you Northerners had ice in your veins already.” The she-wolf growled, but did not move her head from its comfortable position atop her paws. “Very well, my lady; keep to your shadows. I shall stay in the sunlight a while longer.” The low growl coming from the wolf was answer enough, so he said no more.

 

 

 

The wolf ran past him. For a brief moment he tensed as the fur rippled in the wind. In the firelight it had seemed the grey was darker. Nay, it was a light shade. “Wait, where are you going?” he called after her, instinctively giving chase. “Lyanna!”

Lyanna was not hearing a word he said. He suspected she was ignoring him; might be it was her manner, she was a woman after all. He did not stop though. Before long his lungs were straining under the strain of providing air. Should be stop at that point, he would have surely lost her.

“Wait!” She did not. Might be she never would.

And that proved to be precisely the push he needed.

 

 

 

His stomach rolled uncomfortably. The poor hare stood no chance against the concentrated efforts of the she-wolf. Her jaws closed around her prize, shaking the poor creature back and forth. He could see the legs kick. Lyanna had no qualms about ending her meal’s life. He supposed she wouldn’t. After all, he saw no other manner of survival. Pulling away from the scene, he sat down upon the protruding roots of a tree.

The sole companion he’d found thus far and he was taken aback that she fought tooth and nail for her survival. The bones he’d seen at the feet of the weirwood tree; it made a little more sense. She must have placed them there. Or her brothers. A sigh left his lips.

 

 

 

The half-eaten carcass of the hare rested upon the maiden’s tunic. Rhaegar wondered at the decision. He watched the she-wolf tear chunks of meat from the soft flesh. “I wonder, do you recall eating when you become a girl again?” With the way she’d been gobbling down the salted-meets he’s brought along, he thought she mightn’t. The wolf glanced up, licked at the blood-stained fur. “I will ask you about it.” Her eyes fell back to the food and she continued with the task. So much like a woman. He chuckled. “Enjoy your meal, my lady.” He returned to the light and sat down on the log. Rhaegar picked up the piece of wood he’d been fiddling with previously and his knife.

 

 

 

Rhaegar deliberately kept his face turned towards the fire. He heard the whooshing and cracking. The moon was high upon the sky, still a full round circle of light, same as the night before. Coughing rang out behind him. Not the manner suggesting someone announced their arrival. Rather, it sounded as though the poor girl was choking.

With little thought towards modesty, he whirled around, jumping over the first of the graves. She’d hidden closer than the first time he had found her. To her great luck that was. He helped her up with ease, marvelling at the dried blood. He hadn’t expected there would be proof of her hunt. “Easy, my lady. Easy.”

She quietened ever so slightly. His arm moved around her waist, holding her up. Her skin was ice-cold.

 

 

 

It was a wonder the woman was still alive, Rhaegar decided as Lyanna slipped into the foliage covered pool before the weirwood. He should have allowed her to go on her own. Especially considering her brothers might be lurking around, lying in wait for him. Alas, the very thought that a poor maiden might have to face the dangers of darkness on her own would not allow him any peace.

She broke the surface of the waters once more disturbing the leaves, setting them adancing. He was growing cold just watching her. And that moon above them was still full. Two nights in a row. A thoughtful sound left his lips. At the very least he would be distracted by something appropriate as opposed to the more suggestive and infinitely more dangerous option available.

 

 

 

First the food. Then his tunic. Rhaegar kept a suspicious gaze upon the maiden drying her hair before the fire. In truth he did not regret giving up his tunic. His fingers remained firmly curled around the handle of his sword. “So you cannot explain it to me?” he questioned.

Lyanna faced him. “Nay. If I could, I would tell you how to aid me beside.”

“So every day you spend as a wolf and at night you became a woman.” There had to be some logic the curse followed. Might be it had to do with the full moon. “Say I aid you nevertheless, what do I get in return?“

“The treasure.” A flicker of disappointment was crushed beneath the heel of ambition. “That is what you came for, is it not?”

 

 

 

Pain erupted in his side, forcing Rhaegar wide awake. He rolled away from the power of the kick, the cry upon his lips lost in the ruckus. He heard Lyanna’s voice, possibly because he knew the sound of it, more clearly than he did the others. Although he could tell they were male.

The brothers.

“Brandon, stop it. You’re killing him.” Rhaegar was tempted to agree. The burn spreading to his chest stopped him from doing so. “Stop it! He’s mine!”

The lull in the stream of assaults allowed him to rise off of the ground. In the glow of the fire he could make out, beside the slim form of the she-wolf, three more shapes.  
The sound of flesh slapping against flesh rent the air. “He is dead, that’s what he is.”

 

 

 

The taste of copper filled his mouth. A sight better than steel, but nevertheless remaining one of his least favourites. On the bright side, the three wolf brothers were now glowering at him from beyond the high-rising flames, with Lyanna stuck firmly against him, ostensibly to hold him up. Suffice to say he would feel more at ease in his father’s presence.

Lyanna’s shivering proved adequate distraction. “Cold?” he managed in spite of the pain in his jaw. Her damp hair clung to her cheeks as she turned to face him.

“You’re warm enough.” If her brothers had not been adamant about keeping them apart before, they would undoubtedly come to that decision soon enough. And he hadn’t yet sunken so low as to accept the risk.

Rhaegar stood abruptly. “I’m for a walk.”

 

 

 

The youngest brother, no more than a boy, truth be said, planted himself firmly in the middle of the path. “Is there a problem?” Rhaegar questioned, eyeing the mounds of snow accumulating ahead.

“Depends on how you look at it,” Benjen shrugged, retaining something of the feral wolf even in human skin. “You’re not the first man to stumble his way in our home. There have been princes, sellswords, adventurers of all sorts.”

“Were they all treated to your tender ministrations, I wonder.” Beneath the cynicism was a layer of anxiety. “Never you mind. Shall you leave me be, or must I fight for something an innocuous as a walk.”

“Take your walk,” the boy answered. “But if there is any doubt in you; if you believe you are no match for the curse, you ought to use this chance to make off with your life. Otherwise, we will consider you have accepted the challenge.”

 

 

 

His mount snorted softly. Rhaegar patted the soft nuzzle. “I know; but now that we’re here I cannot simply run with my tail tucked between my legs.” No matter how much he wished he might. “I’ll ask them to set you free, if I don’t return, that is. Lady Lyanna seems like a good sort. I can trust her with this.” And apparently with so much more, considering she had saved his life.

The horse had little to say to that. Which Rhaegar had expected. He shook his head. “I suppose there’s nothing for it.”  
Before he left, he assured himself there were enough oats to last the poor nag for some time.

 

 

 

Lyanna was the only one still awake when he finally returned to the banked fire. She looked at him, wide-eyed, expectant. The ill-fitted tunic covering her slipped off of one shoulder, presenting a rather comic picture. He dropped down at her side, eyes settling upon the flames, as opposed to watching her.

“You will need help,” she said, after a measure of silence. Without as much as a by your leave, she grabbed his hand and pressed something into his palm. It dug past the thin layer, causing him to wince. “When you have need of me, use it.”

She moved away from him, not waiting for an answer. Pressing into her eldest brother’s side, she turned her back to him. And Rhaegar, left with his own thoughts, turned his attention to whatever it was that she had given him.

Polished bone shone in the firelight.

 

 

 

“Are you asleep?” Her breath fanned against his cheek, her fingers digging in his arm. He had not been sleeping. Thus he opened his eyes and regarded her in silence. Her hair brushed against the side of his face.

“I am not now. Aught amiss?” Rising with a light groan, he ignored the way she pulled back and looked to the fire. The flames were dimmed. “I should replenish the wood.” He did not get further than voicing the intention, because the she-wolf caught his face between her hands.

“Do you not hear that?”

He heard nothing. “Did you have a night terror?”

 

 

 

The female wolf circled him, blocking his path with such obstinate insistency that he found it difficult to believe he’d had trouble with her brothers at all. Speaking of, the eldest Stark sibling growled at his sister. A warning might be. “This is not helping,” he let her know, hoping that might move her.

The she-wolf paused. “I have to go in.” Her body quivered. “I’ll be careful, my lady.” He tentatively touched a hand to the top of her head. A whine rose from her throat. “If I’ve need of you, you will know.”

Seeming to give up, she padded to the side. Her brothers, however, appeared more than pleased to push the doors open for him.

 

 

 

“You must be in jest.” He gazed into the darkened corridor. If only wolves could talk. He turned to look at the only wolf that mattered, somewhat worried. But her face betrayed nothing. Could a wolf express worry, he wondered. Lyanna paced.

A labyrinth was no jest despite his outwardly composed mien. So many roads leading to dead end, and only one the path to follow to salvation. Daunting prospect no matter the perspective he broached. Unsheathing his sword, Rhaegar brought the blade against the first of the pillars marking the doorway. He would prevail. That was his decision.

“I bid thee farewell, my lady.”

 

 

 

One of the great advantages of being cloaked in darkness boiled down to the rush which accompanied the success of finding a path through the sea of blackness. Rhaegar concentrated on feeling his way through the narrow and growing narrower tunnel. There seemed to be naught in his path. Yet at the same time he had little to guide himself by.

A torch would not be amiss as his sword would blunt if he should attempt producing motes of dying light at every turn. Whoever came up with that particular trial deserved a spot in the hottest pits of hell.

His free hand moved to the inner pocket, searching for the piece of bone. He felt the smooth surface beneath his fingertips and sighed with relief.

 

 

 

He fell. The hard ground came up to meet his descent, slamming powerfully into his chest. The wounds earlier inflicted by the three brothers flared painfully. It was not a new experience by any means. Years and years of stumbling over his own feet and over the feet of others had prepared him. Alas, it occurred to Rhaegar, as he struggled to his feet, that falling down as a child was a tad different.

He searched blindly for the cause of his downfall. His hand wrapped around a shaft of wood. Finally, something he could light on fire. He was beginning to feel more like a Targaryen with every passing moment.

 

 

 

The torch was a crude thing, torn cloth wrapped around the head, a weak flame produced with the aid of what had once been precious garments. To his great annoyance, he found the words of the youngest brother to be true.

The first corpse he came upon wore a light armour, cloth and leather. There was a golden ring on his finger and a silver axe beside him. Rhaegar knelt by the weapon and inspected the handle. There was naught carved into it which might indicate the identity of its bearer.

Another reminder that he had best find a way out of this maze. Unless he wanted to decorate the inside of an intricate web.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, yes, it is basically an exploration of the fundamental and frankly awe-inspiring notions upon which our fairy tales are based. 
> 
> If you know what I'm talking about, you're my favourite person. :D
> 
> If you have no idea what I'm talking about....read tags...that should clarify stuff.
> 
> Otherwise, maybe comment and let me know how off the mark I am? Please do.


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